


Pain and Painting

by foxtwin



Category: Blackadder
Genre: Art, Gen, Humor, Painting, Puns & Word Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-24
Updated: 2012-12-24
Packaged: 2017-11-22 07:17:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/607239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxtwin/pseuds/foxtwin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blackadder assists Prince George as he takes on a new hobby.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pain and Painting

**Author's Note:**

  * For [polishmyarmor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/polishmyarmor/gifts).



“Isn’t it marvelous, Blackadder?” 

The Prince Regent, wearing a white linen jerkin and dark woolen breeches, beheld a blank stretched canvas on a wooden easel in the corner of his bedchamber. Edmund Blackadder, his butler and confidante, stared at the empty canvas with him, bewildered.

“It’s blank, Your Highness.”

“Yes, of course its blank.”

“How could it, then, be marvelous, Your Highness? More marvelous things have been encountered in Baldrick’s chamber pot -- when he uses it.”

“Blank it may be now, Blackadder, but come a week or two, it will be filled with some of the finest artistry yet devised!”

Edmund looked at Prince George with mild amusement. “And what shall grace this fine blank canvas, Sire? David and Jonathan bantering about naked in the wilderness of Judea, playing gaily with bows and arrows? Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden, tempting each other with forbidden fruit? An idyllic mythological scene with chubby cherubs or bosomy barmaids?”

The Prince’s eyes widened, then squinted, then widened again as he attempted to picture the scenes on the blank canvas. Considering Blackadder’s suggestions seriously, the Prince finally shook his head. “Tempting targets and fruity bosoms sound damn saucy, and perfectly suited for the occasion, but I doubt that Sir Reynolds would approve.”

“Sir Reynolds, Sire? Do you mean Sir Joshua Reynolds, the famous painter?”

“Indeed, I am,” the Prince said matter-of-factly.

“Then may I assume that you are to have your royal portraits done?”

“Well, I’m not sure about the port rates, Blackadder, or whether I have any for that matter. But Father said that I should get a Sir Joshua Reynolds to do a painting. And I was kind of hoping he’d give me some lessons in the art of..well...art.”

“Lessons, Your Highness?”

“I’ve decided I need a hobby, Blackadder. And this seems the perfect time to dribble in paint.”

“I believe you mean dabble, Sire.”

“Quite right.”

“Well, surely, Your Highness if you are to learn the art of painting you will need some brushes.”

"Brushes with what, Blackadder? A brush with danger? A brush with death? No thank you! I'm in no mood to subject myself to pain. Just give me the canvas, here, and I'll be content."

"And the easel," Blackadder prompted. "Don't forget the easel."

"The ease'll what? Blackadder, you are making no sense at all, today."

Blackadder pointed to the wooden easel holding the empty canvas. 

"This easel. For your painting!"

"With Sir Reynolds teaching me, it will indeed be easel..uh..easy."

"But you'll still need brushes," Blackadder said. "Ones made of hair."

“No need for that! I’m swimming in those kinds of brushes. Look over on the bureau, Blackadder, and you will no doubt see that I have a brush for just about everything.” To make his point, the Prince sauntered over to his bureau and, one-by-one, picked up each brush he used every day. “I have a brush for my shoes, a brush for my jacket, and a brush for my wig, and a brush for my horse...”

Blackadder stifled a giggle as he wondered why the Prince would have his horse’s grooming brush on his bureau. The giggle soon was swallowed as he recognized that some depths are better left unplumbed.

“Why, there’s even some brush out in the garden!” the Prince continued. “I’ve brushes all around me!”

“Indeed,” Blackadder said, coming back to a more serious mien. “But the brushes I speak of are much smaller.”

“Well, if those brushes were any smaller, I doubt they’d be much good, now would they? Perhaps for a child, but not for a grown Prince like myself.”

“Quite right, but these brushes are not for taking things off, but putting things on.”

The Prince, dumbstruck by Blackadder’s comment, soon found his voice again. “You mean to tell me that these brushes put things _on_ , rather than take things _off_?”

“Precisely.”

“So, if I use these brushes,” the Prince said, pointing to the items on his bureau, “I will be taking things _off_ of my coat, and my shoes, and my wig, and my horse. But if I use these painting brushes, I shall be putting things _on_ my coat, and my shoes, and my wig, and my horse. Is that it?”

“Well, not exactly Your Highness. You see...

“No, _you_ see, Blackadder. They either do or they do _not_.”

“But, Your Highness. Brushes do _both_.”

“Look, Blackadder. If I have a crumb on my shirt, I use a brush to shake it off, right? Right. I do not -- nor will I ever -- use a brush to shake crumbs _on_ to me, now will I?”

“No, Your Highness. I suppose not.”

“See? I swear, sometimes you can be as thick as syrup, you can.”

“But Sire, painting brushes are different.”

"Oh-Ho! So now you say that we should paint all my brushes, and that will somehow make a difference as to how they're used. Really, Blackadder. What do you take me for? I wasn't born this morning, you know!"

Blackadder was fast losing his patience with the Prince. "Sire, brushes used in art can put images on the canvas."

The Prince had obviously not considered this at all. His jaw dropped. “Astounding! So you mean to say these art-brushes are some...magical device, like a witch’s wand? They make things appear rather than disappear. Can they, for instance, turn a toad into a human and such? Make the invisible, visible?”

“In a manner of speaking...yes.”

Just then, a knock came from the Prince’s bedchamber door. Blackadder opened it, to admit a quaint older gentleman of moderate height, carrying canvas and easel, and bearing a very strong resemblance to one of the most famous founding members of the Royal Academy of Arts.

“Mr. Joshua Reynolds, I presume.” The man’s nod and gentle demeanor immediately put Blackadder at ease. “His Highness has been expecting you.”

“Indeed, I have!” the Prince almost spat. “Blackadder, here, seems to have this notion that you artists can -- with a wave of your wa--” the Prince caught himself enough to adjust his words, “...brushes -- make things appear, as if by magic.”

The painter looked at once from Blackadder to the Prince. “I do believe I can,” he said gently. “But in order to do this, you must make yourself perfectly comfortable. This...magic...takes a long while to have its full effect. Sometimes an entire year. Sometimes longer.” The painter winked at Blackadder, who tried to stifle the smugness he felt inside.

“A year? Longer?” the Price gasped. “I’m not sure I can make myself comfortable for that long! Couldn't I just recline in bed or something? That way, I can fall asleep when I want.”

The painter laughed lightly. “Oh, you’ll only be sitting for a day or two. Maybe three. No more.”

“Well, that’s a relief,” the Prince said, feeling much better about the whole matter. “I can manage sitting for a few days. But a year is just plain out of the question. I’m sure to need to be _un_ comfortable at least some of the time.”

To prove his point, the Prince found a rather uncomfortable chair to use, hoping to impress the artist with his sitting ability. “How shall I sit?” he asked. He sat with his back straight and his head held high, nose slightly elevated. “Is this position good? Does it show off my royal features?” The prince asked. “Or shall I sit another way?” He adjusted his position to a slouching one, with open legs and arms placed loosely on his chest.

“Whichever way you prefer,” Sir Reynolds said, readying his sketching materials.

“In that case, I shall sit like this.” The Prince turned the chair around, straddling it with the chair’s back close to his chest. It looked to Blackadder as if the Prince were tenderly hugging it. This portrait he would have to see for himself!

Sir Reynolds nodded. “Now sometimes, this...ahem...magic can make things appear that aren’t truly there."

"Ho-ho!" the Prince shouted. "Better and better! Perhaps your brushes can add some fruity bosoms for me!"

Blackadder gave the painter a questioning look. Sir Reynolds shrugged.

"Take your jerkin, for a moment,” the artist said.

“Where shall I take it?” the Prince asked, readying to take it off.

“No, no. Your jerkin is fine on your royal body, I assure you. However, it is rather more a peasant’s garment than a royal one. Suppose my brushes could make your jerkin become, say, a royal outfit on that handsome body of yours.”

“I say, that would be smashing!” the Prince enthused. “Or perhaps you could put me in an outfit like that Lord Nelson fellow!”

“Very well, then. Now sit good and still, and I shall endeavor to reveal the true splendor of Your Highness.” 

Blackadder found his way out of the royal bedchamber, leaving the artist and the prince to their magical endeavors. Oh, but the look on the Prince’s face when he would see his own image on the canvas -- even if it would be almost another year on! That look alone would be enough to make his days as butler worth all the gold in England’s coffers.


End file.
